


No 30. Now Where Did That Come From?

by Smiley5494



Series: Whumptober 2020 [29]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bad Guy of the Week - Freeform, Gen, Ignoring an Injury, Stabbing, Whumptober 2020, no 30
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smiley5494/pseuds/Smiley5494
Summary: It was times like these that Merlin regretted ever stepping foot in Camelot. There were barely a few months between attacks, and in particularly rough times there were only a few weeks.It was during one of these rough patches when Merlin got stabbed.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965595
Comments: 10
Kudos: 85





	No 30. Now Where Did That Come From?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nokreli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nokreli/gifts).



> prompt:
> 
> No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?  
> Wound Reveal | **Ignoring an Injury** | Internal Organ Injury
> 
> For Nokreli, who gave me a plotline when this prompt stumped me. Thank you!

It was times like these that Merlin regretted ever stepping foot in Camelot. There were barely a few months between attacks, and in particularly rough times there were only a few weeks.

It was during one of these rough patches when Merlin got stabbed.

Usually, Merlin was good at taking care of the problem without being noticed—people tended to ignore servants, and Merlin had learnt to go unnoticed. Unfortunately, this time, Merlin had been running on only a few hours of sleep. His reaction time was slower, his thoughts less focused.

His side ached; it had been a solid hit. Merlin had never been good at physically fighting, but he’d managed to get the basics from watching Arthur’s training. He’d been a punching bag for the angry would-be assassin, and the knife had hit him before he could dodge. It was not a full stab—he had twisted away at just the right moment—but instead, it was a deep enough cut that he’d had to stitch it up.

Merlin had killed him, it took only a second; a blink of an eye and the assassin was dead. Why he hadn’t done it before, Merlin had no idea, but with the assassin’s death, the problem had been switched to hiding Merlin’s wound.

It was insane, trying to hide, it was a ridiculous and idiotic plan, but Merlin couldn’t think of an explanation for the stab wound; and he couldn’t really be bothered to, either. So he didn’t, he just ignored it—cleaned it, stitched it up, and made sure it was healing—but other than that he pretended it didn’t exist.

* * *

The first thing that Arthur noticed was that Merlin was moving differently. He stepped with more caution, he didn’t twist around. Merlin was more careful with what he did with his side.

Arthur didn’t know what to think. His first suspicion was that Merlin was injured, but that couldn’t be possible; there was no time that Merlin could have gotten hurt. Wasn’t there?

It had been only a few days that Merlin had been moving differently; Arthur ran through the events of the past few days, only a few—barely worth mentioning—complaints about bandits in the woods near where Merlin collected herbs for Gaius, not even a hint of activity from Morgana, a few assassination attempts.

Arthur’s eyes snapped open from where he had been lightly dozing off at his desk. Of course! Why hadn’t he seen it before, Merlin had been the one who had first noticed the assassins; not to mention that he was the sort of reckless, brave, idiot to try and take care of the assassins on his own.

Arthur glanced out of the window and winced, it was far too late to confront Merlin about his injury; it would have to wait until morning.

* * *

In Merlin’s not-entirely-professional-but-still-pretty-close opinion his wound was _not_ healing that well.

It was angry, red, and warm to the touch—tell-tale signs of infection. If Merlin couldn’t deal with it soon, he would have to come clean to Gaius. Merlin wasn’t an idiot, he knew what an infection could do, he knew the consequences; but he was in this deep, it was hard to tell Gaius—especially when he was well aware of the lecture he would get.

Gaius would give him the Look, the one with the eyebrow, that practically _screamed_ disappointment. Merlin never quite knew what to do when the Look was turned on him—all he was entirely aware of was that he was in deep trouble.

Either way, Merlin mused as he cleaned his wound, wincing at the pain, it would have to wait—no respectable person would be awake at this time of night.

* * *

Merlin woke and immediately knew that the infection was worse. Much worse. His entire side felt like it was on fire, and he could barely move from to pain. It was with a strange sense of detachment that he realised he had let it get too far.

Screw his pride, he should have told Gaius right from the start, that would have avoided this whole situation. Nevertheless, he had ignored his wound and treated it badly, and it had come back with a vengeance.

It was completely ridiculous; he wouldn’t be in this position if he had let Gaius look at his injury! Now, instead of healing, he was worse off than before.

“Merlin!” Gaius called, and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief—Gaius was there, within earshot. “Merlin, its time to get up!”

“Gaius,” Merlin called back, “I may need some help.”

Gaius was there in an instant; Merlin didn’t call for help when it wasn’t necessary. The elder man immediately noticed the issue. Gaius started moving, ushering Merlin down the stairs and beginning to clean and disinfect the wound.

Merlin winced and cowered under Gaius’ disapproving gaze.

* * *

Arthur made his way down to Gaius’ chambers. He intended to catch Merlin before the servant left, it would be easier to treat whatever injuries Merlin had if he was closer to the medicine and physician.

Instead, what Arthur arrived to, was Gaius lecturing Merlin on the dangers of infection and how vital it was that he treated his health with the utmost importance. The lecture paused at Arthur’s entrance, but upon seeing that Arthur was uninjured, continued as though it had never been interrupted.

“This,” Gaius said finally, “can _never_ happen again, Merlin. You scared me, my boy, I’m not as young as I once was.”

“What happened?” Arthur asked, only once he was sure that Gaius had finished.

“What _happened_ ,” Gaius said, turning an indignant eye on Merlin—who looked sheepishly back, “was that Merlin here, got himself _stabbed_ and thought it best not to mention it!”

Merlin didn’t even bother to protest when Arthur turned a horrified expression on the younger. He just shrugged, “but I’m fine now, so no harm was done.”

“ _No harm was done_?” Arthur repeated, “you were stabbed!”

“Okay,” Merlin allowed, “it wasn’t the best of ideas, but it could be so much worse.”

“You could be dead.” Gaius interrupted, “and none of us noticed—we would not have noticed, had you not asked for help.”

“Merlin,” Arthur ordered, “promise me—promise _us_ —that you will ask for help when you get hurt, not when it gets bad.”

Merlin looked between Arthur’s earnest face, and Gaius’ approving nod and sighed. He sank slightly lower behind the thin blanket.

“I promise.”


End file.
